


Primal Scream

by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Face-Fucking, M/M, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, wallsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleyFoxtrot/pseuds/ireallyhatecornnuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean kind of wished they weren’t doing this in a bathroom in a hole-in-the-wall, and he kind of hoped that they’d come into the men’s restroom and not the women’s because this was sketchy as fuck to <i>begin</i> with. </p><p>Shameless porn for mischievousart, who was feeling down and deserves porn in his honor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primal Scream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mischievousart](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mischievousart).



> My beta [mischievousart](http://mischievousart.tumblr.com/) was feeling down, so I wrote him porn. Because this was a gift for my beta, this is obviously unbeta'd. Apologies for any screwups!
> 
> Title is from the Motley Crue song of the same name.
> 
> As usual, you can find me at my tumblr, disease-danger-darkness-silence.tumblr.com.

It felt like your average Saturday night; it sort of tasted like it, too, smelled like it even - your average run-of-the-mill shithouse of a bar, dank and unwashed and kind of salty (because they hand out peanuts, because that makes you stay longer, because then you think you won’t get as drunk), with overtones of flat, cheap beer and even cheaper perfume.

Saturday nights, unless they were on a case, Dean usually picked up whoever was willing from the cheap-perfume department (and very _very_ rarely someone from the cheap-cologne department. He doesn’t like to talk about it). It wasn’t difficult; it was the kind of thing that came naturally to him, his skills as an actor and flirt borne from the very _nature_ of what a hunter is. It was the kind of thing that relieved tension, made for a happy time for at two people (sometimes more, if he was _really_ lucky). It relieved the tedium, it kept him limber, and as far as Dean was concerned it counted as his daily dose of cardio, no matter _what_ Sam said.

So all in all, this was your average Saturday night.

Except for where it _wasn’t_.

Stubble grazed his collarbone as strong hands pinned him to the wall; it was sticky, tacky with God-knows-what, and Dean kind of wished they weren’t doing this in a bathroom in a hole-in-the-wall, and he kind of hoped that they’d come into the men’s restroom and not the women’s because this was sketchy as fuck to _begin_ with.

His thoughts were jumbled. He hadn’t seen Cas in _weeks_ ; the fucker’d flown off with the angel tablet and they hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him and no matter how much Sam brought it up Dean didn’t _fucking wanna talk about it, okay Sammy?_ and then out of _nowhere_ the bastard shows up in the bar Dean’s in, interrupting his chatting-up of the truly _gorgeous_ woman at the bar (really the only gorgeous person in the entire bar, possibly the entire _town_ ). And before Dean had a chance to even say anything - hey, how’s it going, Cas; where the fuck have you been?; gates of hell, ringing any bells you bastard? - he was unceremoniously yanked away from the bar and dragged into the men’s restroom, where Cas spent a solid twenty seconds glaring at him like _he_ was in the wrong.

And then just when he was gonna demand to know what the hell was wrong (and in fact, had gotten, “What the _fuck_ -” out), Cas had shoved him into the wall with no warning, the bastard, and pressed his lips to Dean’s.

And at that point, Dean’s brain sort of short-circuited.

Cuz like we said, it wasn’t like he hadn’t made out with dudes before, although certainly not often enough to get used to stubble-burn (god, _fuck_ , if Cas kept doing that thing with his tongue, though, he could _get_ used to it); he was absolutely no stranger to strong hands on his shoulders, although usually they weren’t supernaturally-strong and actively pinning him to the wall so he couldn’t move. (Cas, Dean had learned, sometimes underestimated his strength.)

No, it was just - this was _Cas_. Angel of the Lord, professional badass, probably his best (and only, if he were being honest, cuz Benny’s dead and Garth doesn’t really count) friend, who he’s been through Hell and back with, _literally_ ; and maybe Dean’s thought about him like that before, in his weaker moments, because Jimmy was pretty hot back when he was still alive and of course no one’s done more for him except maybe Bobby. And Dean might be a little bit in love with the guy, but this - _this_ was a new one on him.

“You are the most aggravating human being _in existence_ ,” Cas managed to get out, in between pressing kisses to Dean’s skin.

“What the hell did _I_ do?” Dean said. It most certainly didn’t come out as a gasp, no sir, no way, because Dean never _gasped_.

His question was rewarded with an almost-painful nip to the skin of his collarbone, but it wasn’t answered because _apparently_ Castiel had decided that Dean Winchester didn’t need no clothes and was ripping his T-shirt in half with ease.

“Cas, what the _f-_ ” and again he was cut off by Castiel’s lips and tongue, shoving the words back into his mouth and taking over like a friggin’ _invading army_ or some shit. Don’t ask Dean to come up with metaphors when he’s dealing with angelic groping, man.

Really, he should just learn to stop looking gift horses in the mouth. That, he decided, was _exactly_ the approach he was going to take for the rest of this encounter because honestly, Cas was something fierce and ancient, an oncoming storm, a fucking _hurricane_ , and when he decided he wanted something there wasn’t really any stopping him. They’d learned this the hard way, over and over again, and Dean figured he should just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Cas had let his lips go (good thing, too, because breathing had gotten a _hell_ of a lot harder now that his dick had decided to join the festivities, and his chest was heaving, letting out huge gasps and sucking in these _massive_ gulps of air like he was drowning and fuck, _that_ was a pretty apt metaphor actually because that’s what it felt like: like he was fucking _drowning_ ) and was pressing wet, sloppy kisses down his chest; his hands, once they’d finished _tearing Dean’s clothing to shreds_ , let him up a bit and they were all _over_ the fucking place. One of them was currently tweaking a nipple and Jesus, that wasn’t even something Dean realized he _liked_ until now; the other was grabbing at his ass, not groping but pulling Dean closer to him like he was going to _devour_ him. For a second Dean thought he might; hunter’s instincts made him think twice when someone had their mouth on him, these days.

“ _Cas_ ,” he sighed out, letting his head roll back and thump against the wall. The angel’d just reached his navel, biting gently at the skin around it but not doing much else, and Dean wondered, helplessly, what was coming next.

Apparently, his jeans and underwear getting _torn to shreds_ was what was coming next, because that was what happened; Dean spared a second to mourn them before full-on bodyslamming the wall because Cas _didn’t fuck around_ and he’d dove in headfirst, his tongue peeking out of his lips the only warning Dean had before it was licking his cock from base to tip, forcing a strangled groan out of his throat.

“ _Shit_ ,” he said, his voice sounding high-pitched and loud even to his own ears, and he slapped a hand over his mouth which he was _pretty_ sure pissed Cas off because suddenly his hand was being pried by some invisible force away from him and he could hear the _snick_ of the bathroom door locking off to the left somewhere.

He chanced a look down and sure as shit, Cas looked forbidding, or rather he looked more like a stormcloud than _usual_ which was actually kind of a turn-on. “Uh,” he said.

“If I’m going to do this,” Cas said, and his voice was even deeper than usual which, holy _shit_ , that was hot, “I’m going to _hear you_.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” Dean said, mouth running on autopilot. His hand, free once again, came up and he gave a mock salute with two fingers, grinning down at the angel. Cas raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, and Dean thought he was going to say something in return which, yeah, was _totally_ the wrong assumption to make there because instead that mouth was totally around the end of his dick and sucking, _hard_.

“Fuck!” Dean shouted, his head banging so hard into the wall that he felt plaster crumbling and then raining down on his shoulders, but he didn’t give a _fuck_ because Castiel was sliding his lips further and further down Dean’s cock. The angel made a noise that he took to mean he was pleased, but Dean was distracted from contemplating it when he felt his cock bottom out in Castiel’s mouth, the head swiping across the back and then sliding down, and holy _shit_ , either Cas was a lot more experienced than Dean’d given him credit for or he just naturally had no gag reflex or something, Dean didn’t fucking know.

The angel’s grip on Dean’s ass tightened slightly and he pulled the hunter toward him, forcing his dick further until his nose was buried in Dean’s pubes, fucking deep-throating and honestly Dean was no slouch in the size department so he found himself enthusiastically impressed but now Cas was pulling him out, encouraging him, and _that_ was how Dean found himself fucking his best friend’s face.

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Dean muttered, sweat beginning to bead up along his hairline, and he brought his hand down to cup the side of Castiel’s face, for balance or just because he wanted to, he didn’t know or care at this point. Cas rolled his eyes up to catch Dean’s and yeah, that was like _half_ of Dean’s current fantasies all rolled into one, and the expression on the angel’s face indicated that he was fully aware of that fact. In retaliation Dean snapped his hips forward probably harder than he should, but Cas took it like a pro, following the movement and swallowing him down.

The hand on Dean’s ass shifted, sliding more toward his spine, and he _shouldn’t_ have been surprised when the angel let a fingertip trace down the edge of his asscheek but he _was_ , and he shivered in response. Cas pulled the hand around entirely, Dean could see it now, and without missing a beat fished around long enough to pull one half of Dean’s pants toward him and snag the lube and condom out of the back pocket. Yeah, it was a little more obvious where this was going now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

Cas had learned how to tease somewhere, Dean was gonna blame Balthazar or some shit because that sounded like the kind of advice that dick would hand out like candy, cuz his now-lubed finger was circling his asshole even as he shouldered Dean’s legs apart further, and Dean made a sort of half-grunt half-squeak as he slipped the tip in. It’d been a while, so sue him.

It didn’t take more than a minute for his legs to give out, because Cas had zeroed in on his prostate like a fucking _bloodhound_ , flicking at it in time with Dean’s thrusts into his mouth, and yeah he’d rebuilt Dean’s body so he probably knew every millimeter of it but this wasn’t _fair_. Cas took it in stride, shouldering first one leg and then the other and holy fuck, sometimes Dean forgot how strong angels were but he was, quite literally, sitting on him now; Castiel’s left hand was sort of propping him up where his ass and his leg joined while his right did it’s business, and each of Dean’s legs was slung up, curving up and around Castiel’s neck.

It was _achingly_ hot.

Dean wasn’t even making any sense at this point, his mouth completely out of his control, nonsense and the occasional declaration or swear word mixing in with the groans, moans, and sort of embarrassing mewling noises. Somewhere along the line Cas had added more fingers to the mix and yeah, he was outright fucking him with his hand and Dean could _not_ bring himself to give a shit.

He tried to warn Cas, he really did, but all he really managed was an increased, more-urgent sounding moan as he reacted to the fire arcing up and down his spine, the tingling that was warming him up from the inside out, and then he was coming, his whole back tensed up against the cheap plaster and his nails digging into Castiel’s scalp, a shout wrenching its way out of his mouth, and his come filled Castiel’s mouth, he could feel it, but Cas was an _angel_ , he didn’t have a grasp of human taboos and he just swallowed it down.

Cas hefted him up, and if Dean were a decade younger he’d be half-hard again already from the display of strength but he wasn’t, and instead he just straddled the angel’s midsection with his legs, holding on for dear life while Cas reached down with one hand and unzipped his own pants (the noise of the zipper sent a thrill down Dean’s spine), shoving them down to mid-thigh before somehow getting the condom wrapper open and sliding the rubber down his own cock.

More lube was applied, all one-handed, and Cas was _totally_ using angel mojo to accomplish this but he didn’t _care_ because at this point, Dean’s thighs were burning with strain and he was shaking with want. He relaxed, letting Cas guide him with his superior strength, loosely curling his legs around the angel’s waist, and he could feel it, the tip of Castiel’s cock, and wasn’t _that_ just about the last thing Dean thought he’d ever be thinking.

Any resistance was minimal; Cas’d done a thorough job loosening him up, between the finger-fucking and the mind-blowing, muscle-relaxing orgasm, and Dean was pretty much ready for anything. Still, the initial second was uncomfortable because, like we mentioned before, it’d been a while.

Not for long, though, and he found himself pressed into the wall with angelic strength, being fucked to within an inch of his life, and even though there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d come or even get hard again, every now and then Castiel’s dick would brush up exactly against the right spot and Dean would feel like he was touching a live wire, electricity rolling through him in waves, his skin breaking out in goosebumps at odd with the feverishness of his skin. Sweat _poured_ off of him and he was pretty sure he was chanting Castiel’s name at this point.

The angel in question had buried his face into Dean’s chest, his breath (did angels even need to breathe?) coming in short pants; the occasional moan, broken into different notes, falling out of his mouth and making Dean’s toes curl even though he was nowhere _near_ orgasm.

It was just something about _Cas_.

“Dean,” Cas muttered into his skin, and then, “ _close your eyes_ ,” and Dean did, which was _good_ because behind his eyelids he could see a flash of blue, barely-there before it was gone, and Cas slammed a hand into the drywall behind them, digging a hole four inches deep and coating them in plaster and flakes of paint. His entire body spasmed beneath Dean and he made a noise that was in no _way_ human, primal and warlike.

Dean could feel the angel relax, individual muscle groups at a time, but he still held Dean up and he kept his face pressed into the hunter’s right pectoral, just breathing and, apparently, listening to Dean’s heart rate.

After a few seconds of this Dean was fucking tired of it, and he reached out with his hands, yanking the angel’s face up (which he allowed because Cas let Dean get away with everything) by the hair and leaning down, kissing him for all he was worth. Cas responded enthusiastically, although he did slowly pull Dean off of him and let him to the ground while he did so. Which, Dean would have to thank him for later because really, he wasn’t a girl by any stretch of the imagination.

When they separated a minute or two later, the first words out of Castiel’s mouth (which Dean wasn’t really expecting but to be fair he hadn’t really been expecting much of anything) were, “You’re not for _them_ , Dean,” and to accompany this statement, his hand slid up to grasp Dean’s left arm, where Castiel’s mark had lain for two years before the angel himself had healed it up.

Dean sighed and leaned into the touch. “I’m not for _anyone_ , Cas,” he said, and he’d never admit how bitter his voice sounded.

Cas kissed him again, and this time it was a lot more gentle and a lot less passionate and Dean hated it as much as he loved it. The angel pulled away only far enough to talk; his lips dragged against Dean’s as he said, “You’re for _me_. I found you, I marked you, I saved you, and _you_ saved _me_. You’re mine, and I’m yours.” Cas squeezed at Dean’s shoulder again, as if to emphasize this fact, and he said it like it was the natural order of things, like a man like Dean Winchester was _supposed_ to fall in love with a frickin’ angel and make him fall from grace. Like it was meant to be.

What Dean would have said in reply was lost to the mists of time, because there was a banging on the door. “HEY!” a voice, angry and upset, shouted. “Who the _fuck_ locked the door? Get the hell out of there! This isn’t an orgy, you sick fucks!”

Cas scowled at the voice, and Dean was _fully_ aware that if it had been any other angel, one who didn’t care as much about humanity as Cas did, the guy behind the door would have a smitey Angel of the Lord on his ass. As it was, the angel scrunched his eyes up in a way that was absolutely not adorable (badass angel of the lord, remember), and suddenly his pants were done up and Dean’s clothes were miraculously repaired and adorning his body.

Dean wanted to say something, but Cas cocked his head, like he was listening to something, and his face grew serious. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, placing one last kiss on Dean’s lips. “I have to go.”

And he wasn’t there anymore, and Dean had never felt more alone in his life.  


End file.
